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276 SOME LEAVES FROM A LIFE.

brought him home to tea!—a stranger, who had come from a long distance to attend some important anniversary, and whom father, in his generous hospitality, seized upon with delight because he was a stranger, and needed the shelter of a friendly roof. Dear father! how many might say to him, ‘I was a stranger and ye took me in.” Rosalie and 1 were tuo much accustomed to visitors to be at all excited at such an occurrence, for we were motherless girls, and accustomed to doing the honors of our father’s’ house; but a handsome, gentle- manly, unmarried clergyman, like Mr. Nilmore, was not a frequent guest; and such visits were real enjoyment.

He stayed all night; and that evening was one to be remembered. How very different he then seemed, and how little one can tell what men really are! He was bright and enthu- siastic, with such a charming smile; and I actually accused myself of the folly of almost losing my heart to him! He talked more to me than to Rosalie, we seemed to have more in common; but Rosalie posed herself in graceful attitudes, and I knew that he could not but ad- mire her. There was never any feeling of rivalry between us. I think Rosalie was more generally liked than I; but the few who cared for me cared heartily, and I gave them the same in return.

When Mr. Nilmore left us, he was cordially invited to repeat his visit; and he said that, if he ever wandered so far from his parish again, he would be most happy to do so.

We supposed that this was the last of him; but a few weeks afterward, there came a very manly, straightforward sort of letter, addressed to ‘Miss Rosalie Benners,” and requesting the pleasure of a correspondence with her with a view to their better acquaintance. The letter was signed ‘Howard Nilmore;” and the writer spoke of the pleasant evening spent in her society, and a strong desire for many more evenings of the same kind.

Rosalie laughed a good deal over this letter; and, as was our wont in any such matter, showed it at once to father.

‘You can answer it,” said he, “if you feel disposed—a correspondence with Mr. Nilmore can do you no harm.”

We had considerable trouble with the an- swer—for I was called into council, and the great difficulty lay in the beginning. Rosalie wrote down, ‘‘My Dear Mr. Nilmore,” and con- cluded that this was too affectionate; then, “Mr. Nilmore;” and then, “Sir;” but these last were too stiff and business-like. His own letter began, “My Dear Miss Rosalie,” and went on as naturally as though he had written to her all his life. Finally, we settled upon “Dear Mr. Nilmore;” and after much laughter, and many alterations, the epistle was, at length, disposed of.
 * Dear Sir,”’ which did not seem much better;

Rosalie said that it was extremely funny, about the last thing she would have expected; and I could not tell why I felt depressed about it. Did I imagine that the letter should have been written to me?

Mr. Nilmore sent another epistle so promptly, that Rosalie declared it quite a bore to be writing to him so often. I had my sister’s answers to overlook and correct; for Rosalie had a natural infirmity, peculiar to some persons, of misspelling her words: neither were her sentences always grammatically arranged. Once, when she was sick, she fairly teased me into writing an entire letter for her, which she copied and sent with much satisfaction. Mr. Nilmore’s next letter spoke of this enthusiastically, declaring it to be the most charming epistle she had written to him. Rosalie laughed; but she was not troubled about it, as I would have been.

Soon after this came the proposal; and my sister seemed scarcely to know her own mind in the business. Father gave his consent, with the warmest expressions of satisfaction; but Rosalie told me in confidence that ‘‘she didn’t think she was a bit in love.”

“Then I wouldn’t marry him,” said I, decidedly.

“But, perhaps, I never shall be in love,’’ continued my sister.

“Then,” I replied, ‘‘never marry.”

«But, Susan,” pursued Rosalie, ‘‘I don’t want to be an old maid!”

“Ah, me!” I thought, “how often, in this world, are ‘pearls cast before swine!’ ”

“I am a little afraid of Mr. Nilmore said my sister; ‘‘and as I rather like any one I am afraid of, I think I shall take him into consideration. Then, too, he has such a pretty parsonage—he has written me all about it; and I should think it might be rather nice to be a clergyman’s wife.”

Another impassioned letter soon arrived from Mr. Nilmore, in which he added so many argu- ments, that Rosalie was finally prevailed on to decide favorably.

Then poured in congratulations, for my sister seemed rather proud of publishing the fact that she was to marry a clergyman, and go off so many hundred miles to live; and one of those persons, whose mission seems to be to say some-